Whole
by Mouse
Summary: At Luke and Mara's wedding, Talon Karrde reflects on the nature of his relationship with the bride. Fluffy vignette.


  
  
She was beautiful. It had been the first thing he'd noticed about her, so long ago-- though it had taken barely moments to learn there was more to her than that. She was older now, of course, and it showed in her face; she had matured, healed even. Eyes that had been home to bitter ghosts were now clear, calm, and for the moment, content. Still, even now they lanced at him with the keen, no-nonsense gaze that let him know she was still his Mara.  
  
No, he corrected himself, not his Mara anymore. Skywalker's Mara.  
  
They were descending from the podium, Skywalker grinning and waving answers to the raucous cheers that erupted from all corners of the Hall. Mara held her white gown above her feet with one hand, while the other twined together easily with her new husband's. Her eyes left Karrde's face, mouth twisting in a half smile, half scowl as Calrissian mauled her in a round of enthusiastic congratulations.  
  
Karrde waited patiently at the end of his row, watching, smiling softly. He suspected that his smile had lost the sardonic edge he had perfected over the years; fortunately, Aves, standing beside him, had the sense to ignore it, and Dankin, who didn't, was beating his way through the crowd to greet the newlyweds.  
  
He was glad for her, Karrde took the time to remind himself. If there was anyone he knew who had earned happiness, it was this woman. And if there was anyone who could have possibly earned the love of this woman, it was Skywalker. Skywalker with his unquailing trust in her, Skywalker who had-- one way or another-- been her reason for living since the day her world collapsed around her.  
  
But even that gladness did little to fill the almost overwhelming pit of loss inside him.  
  
He watched as the couple made their way toward him, letting himself look at her, truly see her, as he had not for several years. It was dangerous to spend too much thought on a single person, dangerous to know them too well. He treated all his employees with care, with respect; they were people to him, not numbers, not statistics.  
  
But still merely associates.   
  
Somewhere along the line, Mara had become a part of him.  
  
And it hurt, terribly-- much more than it should have-- to let her go.  
  
He couldn't quite name what it was that he felt for her. It was hardly a paternal affection-- what had he done to shape her, to guide her, to bring her to life? And yet, neither was there any romance in it-- he felt no passion, no desire, no jealousy for her person.  
  
It was deeper than partnership, more costly than friendship.  
  
It was feeling without a name, except that misused, abused term that defined much and described little.  
  
Love.  
  
He loved her, but as what? As someone who had shared ten years of his life-- as someone who had built so much of his life. As someone who had caused him nights without sleep, and sleep without rest-- someone who had provoked confusion, irritation, satisfaction, even pleasure. Someone who had changed him.  
  
Perhaps, just simply as someone.  
  
As Mara.  
  
Each relationship, someone had told him once, creates its own kind of love. If he told her that he loved her, would she understand what he meant? Or would it be twisted and misinterpreted by the limits and stereotypes of society?  
  
She stood in front of him now, with Skywalker at her side. Her veil had been pulled back, leaving those brilliant green eyes that had so impressed him on their first meeting open to his gaze. Startlingly open, in fact; even in the best of times Mara had held something back. Not so, now.  
  
"Karrde," she said in greeting, her sharp voice audible even in the tumult of the Hall.  
  
"Mara," he returned mildly, and after a moment of hesitation, held out his hand.  
  
An impatient flick of her chin knocked a stray red-gold lock of hair out of her face before, to Karrde's surprise, she let go of Skywalker's hand to clasp his own in a firm, almost uncomfortably tight grip.  
  
It was then that he realized it, something that should have been obvious to him all along.  
  
She wasn't Skywalker's Mara any more than she was his, or the Emperor's.  
  
The short and long of it was that she was, quite simply, Mara.  
  
So perhaps the pain didn't come from the fact that she didn't belong to him. It was that she never had.  
  
And it was because of this, he knew, that he was able to love her.  
  
He turned to Skywalker, arching an eyebrow. "Permission to kiss the bride?"  
  
The other laughed. "You'd better ask the bride."  
  
He looked back to Mara, found her face decidedly serious, and smiled to lighten the moment. He squeezed her hand, and, leaning forward, planted a light kiss goodbye on her cheek.   
  
_Not goodbye_, the thought inflected fiercely in his mind.  
  
She smiled at him, a slow, genuine smile. Before he could withdraw, she turned her head, returning his kiss. "Never goodbye," she murmured, meeting his eyes squarely as she pulled back, letting him know with those two words that she had heard the words he never said, felt the touches he never dared-- that she understood.  
  
With two words, she made it that much easier for Karrde to let go of her hand.


End file.
